


Bruised and Battered

by thilesluna



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Jeremy is an idiot, M/M, Michael is a softie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6848311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilesluna/pseuds/thilesluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jeremy is relatively new to the crew–not as B Team, but as part of the Crew proper–he comes back to the penthouse one night with a gash on his forehead, a slice in his side, and bruises on his knuckles. He tries his best to sneak into the bathroom to take care of it himself, but Geoff, always the mother hen to his boys, catches him and calls Jack who makes Ryan get the med kit and eventually all the commotion brings Gavin and Michael out from their rooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruised and Battered

When Jeremy is relatively new to the crew–not as B Team, but as part of the Crew proper–he comes back to the penthouse one night with a gash on his forehead, a slice in his side, and bruises on his knuckles. He tries his best to sneak into the bathroom to take care of it himself, but Geoff, always the mother hen to his boys, catches him and calls Jack who makes Ryan get the med kit and eventually all the commotion brings Gavin and Michael out from their rooms.

It’s embarrassing…but also _awesome_.

Jeremy knows they care and he knows they’re basically his family now but it’s weirdly touching to have Gavin squawking over him and Geoff hovering and Jack’s gentle hands on his side while Ryan questions him about the details. Michael fumes in the back, his eyes flicking from Jeremy’s head to his side.

The second time it happens, Michael is the only one at the penthouse. Jeremy sneaks in through the door and almost makes it to his room, holding his dislocated shoulder carefully still. It was a bitch to drive back, but he knew he couldn’t get the right leverage where he was to pop it back into place. Once he’s in his room, he should be fine and then he can take care of his rolled ankle too (most definitely just sprained, nothing serious).

“What. The. Fuck.”

Jeremy winces. “Hey Michael,” he says, his voice resigned.

Michael materializes out of the shadows. “Jeremy. What the _fuck_!”

“Is that a question or is it rhetorical? It sounds kind of rhetorical.”

“Where the hell were you? What were–is your shoulder _dislocated_!?” Michael yells.

“Maybe,” Jeremy tries. “Probably? Okay, yes. Definitely. I can fix it though!”

Michael is crowding into his space and making him walk back into the kitchen. He looks _pissed_. “Shut the fuck up and sit at the counter so I can get a look at you.” Jeremy sighs and limps over to the tall stools by the breakfast bar. “Are you limping? And yes, that’s a fucking rhetorical question, asshole.” Michael rummages around in the freezer and comes out with two ice packs which he tosses on the breakfast bar. “Put one of those on your ankle and elevate your foot. I.C.E., you idiot. I’ll be right back.”

Jeremy does as he’s told the best he can. His left arm isn’t really working at this point and he doesn’t want to move it if he can help it, so he kind of flops the ice pack down on the stool next to him and maneuvers his ankle to rest on top of it. Michael emerges from the bathroom with a sling, a med kit, and what looks like some ace bandages.

“Did you even notice your wrist?” he asks. Jeremy looks down and sees the discoloration around the area in question. 

“Oops?”

Michael frowns at him. “You’re a fucking dumbass. And this is going to hurt, so buckle up buttercup.”

“I used to do gymnastics, I’ve disloca– _FUCK!”_ Jeremy screams when Michael roughly sets his shoulder back in place. He thinks he might black out for a minute because the next thing he knows, he’s leaning his back against Michael’s chest as the sling is fitted around his body to support his arm, and his wrist is already wrapped in an ace bandage. He twists his head to look back at Michael. “Thanks.”

Michael scowls back at him. “What the fuck were you thinking, Lil J?”

Jeremy shrugs. “You guys go out on jobs alone all the time.”

“But we don’t come back looking like Jared Leto in _Fight Club,”_ Michael counters.

“I don’t know what that means,” Jeremy says. 

“God damnit, J. Watch some fucking movies, Jesus.” Michael finishes securing the sling. “Hold still, I need to clean these cuts.” Oh yeah, Jeremy thinks. He forgot about his face. Crashing through a glass window head first generally leaves a few contusions. 

He sits silently while Michael patches him up, the ice packs soothing the sharpness of his injuries. Michael’s hands are careful, gentle when he moves Jeremy’s face around to get different angles. It’s such a contrast to everything else about Michael. He’s usually explosions and yelling and sharp words. Now though, Jeremy wants to fall asleep with Michael’s careful fingers cleaning his cuts and bandaging his bruises.

“Lil J. Jeremy.”

He blinks his eyes back open and Michael is very close. “You can’t fall asleep here. I mean, I would prefer you don’t at all because you’re probably concussed, but definitely not here. You’re going to fall off the stool and crack your head open.”

“You’d catch me,” Jeremy says groggily.

Michael laughs. “You’re right, but you weigh like a thousand pounds because you’re built like a brick shit house. C’mon, lets get you some pain meds and get you to the couch.” He grabs a bottle of ibuprofen and water bottle from the counter before stooping and slipping his free arm around Jeremy’s waist. They slowly maneuver over to the couch, Michael leaning against the arm and Jeremy leaning against Michael.

“You’re the best,” Jeremy says. He’s definitely concussed, at least a little bit. Michael huffs. 

“Shut up and take your pills.” It comes out overly fond and Jeremy ignores the way his heart leaps. “I’m going to let you nap for like, 10 minutes and then I’m going to wake you up,” Michael says.

“Okay,” Jeremy says happily. “You’re going to stay here with me?”

“You’re kind of on top of me, Lil J.”

“That’s true,” he replies. “But you’d stay anyway, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, dude. Definitely,” and Michael’s voice has that fond lilt to it again. Jeremy closes his eyes and relaxes as best he can against Michael. It might be the concussion, but before he drifts off, he swears he feels a kiss pressed into his hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally on tumblr @scrob-lord.


End file.
